


A Synthetic Solution

by sunnyhomes



Category: Alien Series, Alien: Isolation (Video Game)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Dysfunctional Family, Ellen.exe has stopped working but Dwayne just wants everyone to get along, F/M, Prompt Fic, Trauma, also Amanda and Chris are married and I'm hurting, without KNIVES
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-27 09:23:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14422398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunnyhomes/pseuds/sunnyhomes
Summary: Ellen Ripley really doesn't like androids, much less the idea of coming home after 17 years to see her daughter in love with one





	A Synthetic Solution

**Author's Note:**

> This work is dedicated to everyone who requested it on my Alien Isolation tumblr, namely one-of-us-must-be-crazy, and chainedcoffin, and really anyone who liked and reblogged that [ post ](http://sunnyhomes.tumblr.com/post/172220782392/one-of-us-must-be-crazy-altar-of-pimps-i-just).

“Is he... Y'know?” 

Across the hotel corridor from Hicks, Bishop only cocks his head in response. Somehow both oblivious to his point and the sudden death hold a seasoned marine has on his armrests, which by his standard is definitely premeditated, absolutely intentional, and not at all to do with the glass shattering nearby.

Both men, synthetic and organic, had been sat against the thunderously shaking wall, its foundations trembling with the vengeance of not one, but two Ripley’s. He, however, knowing better than to risk a pulse rifle blast through the gyprock and thus through his cranium, had wriggled his cheap courtesy seat over to the far wall. Making an effort to avoid being the first in line of sight should the door fly open. Or off it's hinges altogether.

Sorry, Bishop. You are part of the family now, but you have got alternative parts.

"Is he, what?" His friend makes a look that somehow reads ‘shrug’ without actualizing it.

Hicks rolls his shoulders half as dramatically as his eyes, glancing wearily down each hallway as if what was going to be said would summon a third Ripley into the nearby fray. “Is he... Synthetic?”

Bishop seems to literally click with realization. “Oh, yes I believe he is. A prototype that was barely on the orientation table when I was deployed with the marines as their- your, I suppose, tending synthetic.”

“The hell didn't you tell me for?”

“I- you didn't ask. And I thought I was being upgraded in any case, not that you would be blamed for doing so. I'm not what I-”

"You," a sharp finger is jabbed in his direction, "shut that shit down. Okay? You don't upgrade family, not when it's all you have left."

Bishop seems to revel in this thought, so far still oblivious to the something rather large, hopefully with _wooden_ legs, hitting a nearby wall. Hicks mumbling something little tamer than curses under his breath.

To begin with, there seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary afoot. He met Amanda as Ellen’s partner, Amanda met Newt as big sister, and once Ellen and her daughter stopped crying and hugging, stroking each other's hair, awing at new wrinkles, and old scars, she had been taken away to pick up Bishop on his release from rehabilitation. Their strange little party driven by Amanda's assistant, typical uniform-clad 'Poor Company Dude' who would no doubt cop Ellen's wrath at some point during the night. Admittedly, Hicks did find it... funny that he hung around after delivering them safely to their hotel, setting the older Ripley in an feeling of paranoia. The tap of her toe suddenly quite like a time bomb as he even accompanied them to their floor. 

But was undoubtedly 'funnier' again that the assistant whom now had both the Ripley's on edge, went into the room and closed the door on the other three with an apologetic nod. Dwayne didn't have to catch his and Bishops reflection to know their expressions were criminally worrisome, like he thought 'poor guy'. 

_“Funny? Why is it Funny?” Bishop tested his new legs before taking a seat beside his friend._

_“Not funny ha ha, funny weird. What’s that guy’s deal?”_

_“Whatever it is, I believe it's going to be bad.”_

_“You reckon?”_

_“Without a doubt.” Bishop didn't give any margin for uncertainty, perhaps even overhearing the butt end of the conversation held in the room adjacent. “I've not seen Ellen in such a state since our first encounter, and if you recall that was not the kindest.”_

_“The apple don't fall far from the tree, you'd think they'd be stoked to have each other just on the same planet, let alone within reach. But a few hours in and they're like this? And not just to each other but especially-”_

_“To the Samuels.”_

_“Exactly! I can't wait to see what Christmas is going to be like... Wait, what? The Samuels?”_

_Bishop leaned in and Hicks mirrored him like a gossipy teen. “I suspect there could be more bad news from The Company, that's why they sent legal.”_

_“If there is, why can't we hear it?”_

_And then the shouting began and he wished he couldn't._

Hicks looks to his watch, it’s close to midnight and he's certain either they didn't have neighbours, which was likely from this establishment, being as 'last minute' as emergency accommodation gets; or they were too terrified to call reception. Surely the war parties would tucker themselves out soon and he could curl up in a real bed, it had only been two years since his head touched a pillow. And at the moment he would take whatever was going, bed bugs and all. Though the idea of sharing a room with two pissed off Ripley's and two androids not so metaphorically whirring away on rest cycle, makes him wonder just how much sleep he'd really manage anyway. He may even just take a leaf out of Newt's book, snoring away on the floor throughout the whole thing despite the poignant smell of feet, home-brand antibacterial spray, and shitty room service. Which is an agreeable scent compared to the superabundance of cornbread and meatloaf he'd had for the past, well, ever, right about now. If only they had a room for it to be delivered to.

He huffs, reaches down and rugs the young one further up in his jacket. Damn the three next door. And Bishop for not telling him about Samuels for that matter.

-

Christopher's urge to tidy is eclipsed by a healthy respect of those sharing his space. Respect and fear maybe; of both, definitely. One, for the damage she had on multiple occasions threatened on his own vessel, sizing him up by the cables easiest removed; and fear for the other's sake as she stands between them. They had all but totaled the room, they being Amanda and Ellen. And if Christopher Samuels was honest, which by preference he did like to be, they wouldn't have been in this situation had Amanda been a touch more discreet on certain aspects of their partnership. The older woman hadn't the urge to bowl furniture over going for her letterman until Amanda told her how they'd been sleeping together, in every sense of the word. 

'Just like any other relationship!' his unlawful-mother-in-law obviously tended to disagree, hurling the business end of a utility knife at his neck. 

"Mum!" Amanda screams, picking the blade out of a nearby cushion. "Where the fuck did you get that from, we agreed!" 

Ellen looks like she wants another shot, but in stead of going for something else like the shattered glass on the floor, takes a much sharper tone. "I agreed before I found out this deviant is taking advantage of you! Do you know what they're capable of, Amy? Cellular uplink, wireless networking, as long as they have signal, anything you have said or done around him is probably out there in servers somewhere. God, Amanda!"

"If I could interject-" The demonic spin on Ripley senior makes Christopher doubt his heat tolerances. "I've been removed from the uplink. I have no aerial anymore, it was removed not only for my privacy in freedom, but The Company's. The cloud goes both ways, you see."

"And you'll just let us take your word for that, won't you?"

Amanda cards her fingers through her hair, almost ready to tear it out. "I saw the operation myself okay? It was done, to standard. Take it from someone who had developed more of an understanding about the build of synthetics, especially recently."

The tips of Ellen's ears turn violently red and Amanda is quick to wave her into sedation. 

"Okay! Mum! That's not what I meant, I've had to patch him up a few times because things, well, things keep happening." The sensory glitches, non-responsive vocal system, and the deathlike state of sleep aside, that is also kind of what she meant. 

"What about everything he's recording? You can't expect me to believe all that knowledge will be safeguarded in there. What happens to all that if he's ever taken apart?" 

"He's allowed to have memories, Jesus. And you know hopefully he'll outlive me anyway and then I won't give a shit what happens to that information." 

Christopher is quick to steer the subject away from the morte. "It's safeguarded, behind a firewall and layers of anti-ransomware. If anyone should attempt to hijack my memories or information, not only will it lock out the attack, if the invasion persists it will wipe the entire drive." Christopher doesn't know if Ripley's face is one of intrigue or disbelief. "Your daughter's privacy is just as important to me as it is to you."

“Sure, seems very important but you're still more than happy to exploit her for whatever this sick idea of a relationship is." Seemingly done with talking to a mere machine, she rounds on Amanda again, "there is something so deeply wrong with this, wrong in a way I can't explain, and you expect me to think this one is any different? Not when half the reason I didn't make it back home was because of the Nostromo's synthetic. It's obsession with that organism. And the thing is, when Ash attacked, I don't think it's intent was to kill, not right away. I don't know what it was doing.

"But God help me Amy, if you think I will ever condone just another perverted android, with my daughter, you'll be waiting a while to see that day!” Ellen balls her fists, taking a determined step towards Amanda. “There's no reason for a synthetic to want to do things like that. None, other than some sick programmer getting off on making them so lifelike they start imitating human nature.” 

Christopher doesn't dare open his mouth, Amanda has to take this one alone. “What motivation would Christopher have for hurting me? Yeah, I've been attacked by more synthetics than you can imagine, but none are like Chris. And you know what? If it wasn't for him, we wouldn't have found you!"

“He came to tell me about the flight recorder, and offer me a place on the ship to investigate myself. Not even knowing there was a possibility of finding your signal. Just for my own personal closure. And you know what? He didn't have to do any of those things. So if anyone here is being exploited, it's Chris. Not to mention he cooks and cleans, sometimes a little too much, but he's also medically educated in how to stop anxiety attacks. Aid the common cold.” Amanda has to stop herself from mentioning taking advantage of his strength, and stamina. “And before you can say something dumb like ‘what was he getting out of it?’ or ‘what was his motivation?’, just stop. Stop, and ask him yourself.”

Samuels is rounded on by two sets of eyes. The green calm of one equally matched by furious dark of the other. Together creating the biological fury of mother nature herself, and he's no more than a rattly old tin can in comparison.

“Well?” Ellen barks. Still yet to master the art of communicating with synthetic people, not quite realising 'speaking when spoken to' is not only a default setting, but the safest course of action in certain affairs.

“It was... Ms. Ripley’s well-being.” Christopher almost says Mrs. Ripley but doesn't in some intuitive act of self preservation. “I was concerned and wanted to help.” 

“Why?” Ellen barely allows him to finish speaking.

“Amanda was a specific interest of The Company.”

“A real Samaritan!”

Amanda flares like the sun in her mother’s direction and she decides against interrupting again.

“Not in that sense, but it is how it began. She had a reputation. Aggression and isolation revolved around certain rumours. And though she was driven by it to the point of working the remotest stations for any word, a course, toward you, the Director of Human Resources would refuse to help any further by means of rereading history files. Investigation. The dull paperwork side of things. So when the case came upon my desk I did my research and saw my chance to make a difference to someone real. It was never my job to offer, and I was never asked to, I just did because the opportunity presented itself and, unlike most things, it was to my discretion.”

“And you helped her, you made the difference. So why are you still here?”

“Because, Ellen, I came to realise after certain events, that life is too short, even for the artificially crafted, to not be spending it in love with your daughter.” Christopher says it with conviction that makes Amanda soften and let her guard down, briefly enough to let something painful through.

“That is such bullshit. I know what you are and that's not in love. You're a simulation. Programmed to talk and walk like us. Nothing else. Nothing else but cause pain, and hurt, and if it takes me having to reach into your programming to pull out the bits that are going to hurt my daughter then I fucking will!”

“And what about the bits of me that can hurt him?” 

“He doesn't hurt! He's a robot, Amanda!” Ellen is a dangerous shade of red in the cheeks, looking like she's about to come through her daughter and Hell itself to gain a clear shot at Samuels. “Call what he is surveillance, on the only family alive that has seen those creatures! That's the only reason he's been here, the whole time!”

“And where were you, Mum?” Amanda is tearing and bitter. Her mighty glacial presence in the room blocks out Samuels so entirely, he may just be forgotten. 

“That's not fair.” Ellen warns as quietly as she'd been all evening.

“Fair? You want to talk about fair? I understand, I really fucking do. Why you vanished for so long, I saw those things and what they were capable of. I know you had to do, what you had to do. Just like me.”

Christopher can't help but feel a little proud of his human being, finally coming to terms with the events on Savastopol. How no matter what happened, the fact she couldn't have saved everyone doesn't make her any less worthy of survival. That she is lucky to be alive herself. And there was no way she could have carried the weight of so many variables, independent human beings, agendas, on her shoulders and gotten out alive. 'You're only human after all.'

“But my life was fucked from the moment I was old enough to be left at the boarding school on Luna, so you could run off and-"

“Where do you think you're going?” Ellen barges past Amanda and has the back of Samuels' jacket in a vice-like grip. 

“I'm making tea. Giving you privacy of the room to discuss this, seeing as it's really not my place to listen in on private affairs. Not being apart of the family, and all.” Samuels sees the knot in Amanda’s brow loosen sadly. “How do you take yours?”

“Black, no sugar.”

No 'thank you' either, he can't help but think, departing for the kitchen. He slides the door shut behind him and the urge to lean his back up against it and slouch, truly, and weakly slouch- he really had been spending too much time utterly absorbing Amanda- is only voided by the fact his weight might unhinge the rickety thing. Honestly, Weyland Yutani, for all they're worth, could have done better.

“Mum... I'm- I shouldn't have said-"

“Amanda, no. It's okay. Out of all the shit from tonight, you deserve to be angry about that.” 

There's a long pause that Chris fills with the tinkering of mugs and spoons and a glass jar of teabags. Actively unable to not eavesdrop, but also seem uninterested. Like the events of the night hadn't just unraveled miles of structure, leaving him a mess of digital code in no particular order. His hand is shaking, glitching, it's hard to respirate, to _breathe. You're not just a robot, does it really take so little to unbalance you?_

“I've suffered with that every singe day for the past two years; how much time I gave you before I would leave every swing." Ellen sits down on the leather couch as it groans. "You know, when I was recovered they told me you were... gone. The date they gave me was wrong, because they wanted something from me and knew there wouldn't be a chance I'd go if you were alive. But that's why you have to believe me, The Company, the people who programmed that synthetic of yours are up to no good. And it knows that. It can't love, they just can't. They work on ones and zeros and they run, not live, not feel. Nothing else.”

"You don't know what I do." The springs of a mattress squeak. “Can't you just give him a chance? Ask him questions about himself. It doesn't take long to realize he's not like anyone else. Unlike any humans I've ever met, and definitely not like any synthetics. He's unique and fits in all the places where my life is empty like he was made for it. Can't you just be happy about that? For me?”

“I will always be happy for your happiness, you’re still my baby, but no baby of mine is going to be spending their life fooled by a glorified bipedal drone. Not when there are real people out there who can honestly love you. I wanted to be called Mum and Grandma and visit you all settled down with a family one day. If it's what you wanted too of course, but you're never even going to have that chance with an artificial human.” Ellen doesn't think he can hear, or refuses to care, but if Christopher can honestly feel for one moment, it does hurt to a significant degree.

“And I want to marry a synthetic but I guess we can't all have what we want.” She wisely leaves out the part where they had discussed it, had their own ceremony, and for all purposes were in a civil partnership. Other than legal, medical, anywhere it truly mattered. 

There's a quiet between them now, an itchy tension that sets off his environmental sensors like floating fiberglass particles. Sub-warning after sub-warning of hazards and Confrontation Imminent prickles under his skin. Samuels would be wary to interrupt, yet does for Amanda’s sake with tea in each hand, nudging the door with his foot. It's impossible to miss the fact Ellen won't take it directly from him, he places hers on the bedside table and stands well back.

“Where’s yours?” Amanda asks, gratefully breathing in the steam.

Christopher shakes his head. “I'm quite alright without, just trying to ease things. There's nothing a good cup of tea can't fix.”

“I don't know about that. Can tea fix disassembled synthetics?” Ellen looks hardly victorious in her suggestive attack, but more indicative of intent should she get her hands on him once and for all.

Within the next barrage of yelling lies something along the lines of 'talk about my husband one more time', a dare, and Ellen did. She really did. And Chris wonders if he should have stayed in the kitchen

-

It’s two in the morning when Hicks goes out to retrieve Ellen from the bar. She’d be well and truly pickled by now, or calm enough to think a little less through a telescope.

The fact she is the latter, only having had a cup of espresso makes their journey up the stairs far nicer in company, even if it involves a conceivably outraged ring in his ears.

“What? You're not going to tell me how you feel about this?”

Hicks hadn't said a thing, and in hindsight that right there would be the problem. “I don't think I really get a say here, Ellen.”

“You do, you get to tell me if I'm overreacting or if I'm not completely out of my mind. After everything that happened, they want me to welcome a synthetic into my family.”

Dwayne stops on a landing. “What about Bishop?”

“Bishop is different, he saved our lives.” Ellen can't even bring herself to voice the fact he's never going to understand anyway since Bishop is not sleeping with his daughter either. “He's one of us, he's on our side with Newt and you, and he's done more to keep us safe than he needs to prove that he's one of the good ones. _The_ good one.” 

“Christopher saved Amanda.”

Ellen has stopped too now, slouching down a few stairs to look at him properly. “What are you talking about? Closure doesn't equal saving her life. It's a nice gesture at best! And if anything, he got her into more trouble by chasing us all the way out to the edge of Zeta Reticuli. He could have gotten her killed in the process. And go ahead, tell me that's a coincidence.”

“That's not what I'm talking about.” Dwayne leans back against the handrail, prompting Ellen to stand beside him and lean in a little. His hand around her shoulder. She was scorching hot and furious, but not at him. At least not yet. 

“Take your tin foil hat off for one second and just listen to me. Not them. Me, Ellen." She nods and he continues. "Your girl's sleepin’ up there and it gave me some time to not only hide that God damn knife where you'll never find it, but also talk to the guy with an unbiased opinion. And before you hate me for prying, I had a few questions too, like if I should be pullin’ my own weapon on him after the stories you told me about what's-his-face. He seems okay for the record, and the bits you didn't hear, or knowing you, didn't ask for, is when he was dragged personality first through a meat grinder just to open a door to the station’s muthur. For your Amanda's safety. But it was what he needed to do, so he did without hesitation. And if that ain't love...”

Hicks shrugs a shoulder for emphasis. “Sure, he was the one who dropped her in the shit to begin with; didn't have to invite her on that mission in the first place, but he couldn't know what would happen. I know he didn't.”

“And how are you so sure?”

Dwayne laughs and rubs her iron-like shoulder inward a little, pecking a kiss to her forehead. “I may just seem like a meat head from all the way up there on the rung of your corporate ladder, but they don't just let anyone into the Marines. Hudson an exception, he got lucky, God rest him. I have enough brains about me, and good instincts if I don't say so too. He’s for real.”

Ellen doesn't seem convinced, but a little more receptive to the idea. “So I should do what, be grateful? Take him in and accept him as a son? Thank him? It doesn't sit right with me, Dwayne.”

Hicks shakes his head and takes Ripley’s hand. “Not if you ain't ready, that’s all stuff you have to mean, but I know a pretty good place to start.”

-

Christopher is sitting on the room side of the far bed. After never having to deal with awkward encounters of the parental kind, the one downside to the arm locked around his waist and very encouragingly strokable hair laying on his stomach is he can't get up in time should Ellen and Hicks come back, not before Amanda inevitably turns over and begins snoring. Or before he suffers the foreboding and awfully final promise of ‘and if I ever see you lay a hand on my daughter I swear to god I will tear you limb from limb!’ as Ellen Ripley ripped the door open, nearly taking out a very affronted looking Bishop in the process.

Amanda hiccups in her sleep and he pushes the hair from her face, rubbing down the back of her neck to squeeze gentle circles into where the skull and spine meet. Functioning as a biological anti-anxiety button for all intents and purposes. “Are you alright?”

“M’sorry.” Amanda whispers in the near pitch room to not wake the sleeping lump in the next bed. “M’sorry it went so badly. It won't always be like this. I hope.”

Samuels nods softly and reaches down to take her hand. “I know, my darling. Even if it was, it wouldn't matter. Not to me.”

Amanda squeezes into him a little tighter. She doesn't open her eyes, the storming exit of her mother had lead her to angry tears and now they were undoubtedly sore. She sniffs proudly. “You shouldn't have to deal with it, and shouldn't have to prove yourself. You deserve better. And you definitely deserve to be pissed, tonight was horrible for you more than anyone.”

Christopher lets out a heavy breath that seems to grind a lot more than usual.

“You're stressed, Chris.”

"Nothing I cant fix. Or worst case scenario, you fix." Samuels tries to chuckle but only manages to sigh.

He can remember a lot of comparable situations to human's idea of what is worthy of being pissed at, but tonight is not one of them. There is nothing that he can't fathom about Ellen Ripley's disdain for his kind, and him especially. Being at fault in a lot of ways that he may never be able to redeem, including but not limited to sharing a molecular build with past homicidal milky androids. 

Then again, if he had a penny for every human that turned their weapons on him on Savastopol...

“Please don't worry about me, your mother just needs time. The last time she saw you, Amanda, you were just a little girl. And not only has she come home to realize she missed a significant amount of your life, she missed seeing you grow and marry. Coming home to you here with someone, like me, can't be easy. And even if she never truly comes around to the idea, it won't matter in the slightest.”

Amanda looks up at Chris with red teary eyes, reaching up lazily to hold the side of his face. He pins her hand there softly and kisses her palm. “Why?"

"Because, despite trying to decapitate me a multitude of times, which is quite survivable by the way, I like her. She has a very familiar shade of relentless determination." 

"That really is one way to put it. Thank you, Christopher. I owe you so much.”

“I have a list, dear." He kisses her hand again, smiling into it, "now get some rest. We’ll be home tomorrow and things will work out. I promise.”

“How c’nyou promise?” As Ripley exhales to sleep, Samuels doesn't respond with the footsteps he heard in the hallway, the ears pressed against the door, or the whispers sneaking through it's hardly up to code soundproofed edges.

“Because I'm going to believe the people who love you, me included, will want you to be happy and do their best to make that so. No matter what.”

Christopher slips down further to rest his neck on the headboard. Amanda's hand seeking his in the dark. With the soft touch and absolute battery depletion for the day, even he is out within a few minutes to a very well needed hibernation.

Once the other two are out, Hicks closely minds Ellen as she slips in past a rest cycle Bishop, snoring, or rather humming in their bedside chair. Like a car that had been in a prang, not quite sounding right since, a few engine mounts loose, a few parts that just don't belong. But still going like old reliable. Dwayne ruffles his hair, getting into the closest side to the younger couple, providing a wall of Marine between the opposing forces. Not that Bishop, even whirring louder and feeling older than each of them, is no less tack-sharp. Doing a good job of protecting them and hiding the pocket knif-

"Ellen. Give it here." 

The woman paused, almost considering denying it, but opens her palm, letting Dwayne tuck the cold knife into the elastic of his track pants. "How did you know?" 

"A knife isn't going to help you sleep, just impale one of us. But that is. Look." A short point over to the next bed, looking to the synthetic making more than enough room on a single bed in the corner, and over Dwayne's shoulder is the woman he dares to hope his life will be spent with, both of their arms full of smaller human beings; they might as well be cut from the very same cloth. 

Ellen doesn't say anything, just places her head down on the pillow as the room divulges into a soft rhythm, purring snores and humming equipment. The six of them trying to catch up on a good night’s rest. Dwayne blinks sleepily as a hand slides over his waist. No longer interested in the knife, she reaches for his hand. Intertwining their fingers. 

You really couldn't get any weirder than his perfectly dysfunctional little family, he thinks, finally laying his head down for the day. Just the way he likes it.


End file.
